


Amber Nights

by Wonko



Series: Traffic Lights [2]
Category: Holby City
Genre: Bernie gets a little therapy, Dating, Eye Sex, F/F, First Dates, Flirting, Hand porn, Second dates, Third dates, nothing bad happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-05 00:14:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13376037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wonko/pseuds/Wonko
Summary: Serena and Bernie's first three dates.





	1. Dinner

**Author's Note:**

> There was a great response to my traffic light night Serena-as-Bernie's-wingwoman-while-pining-and-dying-inside fic, and many people wanted a sequel. So here we have some dating.

For their first official date, Serena decides she’ll take Bernie to Luigi’s, a new Italian bistro in the centre of Holby that various people have told her is very nice: just the right mix of informal and romantic. Apparently there are tables one can request that are nestled nicely in dark corners, with nothing but candlelight for ambience, a respectful distance away from other diners and their prying eyes. When she makes the reservation she requests a table like that, and blushes at the lad on the phone’s audible knowing smirk.

She practically dances through the rest of the week, raising puzzled glances from Raf and Morven and Fletch. She thinks she sees them huddled together a few times, plotting like the witches from Macbeth, but pays them no mind. She’s happy - ecstatically happy - and she doesn’t care who knows it.

“I’m picking you up at 7.30 sharp tonight,” she purrs into Bernie’s ear as they pass each other in the scrub room, delighted when she sees a shiver travel down the other woman’s spine.

“Perhaps I should drive,” Bernie offers. “Extensive wine list and all that?”

Serena shakes her head. “I’m picking you up in a _cab,”_ she says, like it should have been obvious.

Miracle of miracles, she makes it out of work at 5 o’clock. Bernie’s still in theatre dealing with an RTC, but she assures Serena it’ll take no more than another hour when she drops by the observation room on her way out.

Anticipation thrums in her veins as she drives home, and as she sorts Jason’s dinner before heading upstairs to change. She hesitates for a moment over two possible options, then decides on a whim to ask Jason’s opinion. She finds him in the living room watching the end of Pointless, but he’s willing to pause it for her on the condition the interruption will be as brief as possible.

She holds up two dresses, both floor length and sleeveless but in different colours and styles. “Which do you think I should wear tonight?” she asks, her cheeks pink.

Jason gives them both an appraising look. “The burgundy one,” he says, with an air of profound disinterest.

Serena smiles and holds it against her front. “Do you really think so?”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”

She nods. “I know, Jason,” she said, then can’t hold in a giggle. “Oh, I feel like a teenager.”

“You don’t look like one. Too many wrinkles,” Jason replies, but even his brutally honest opinion can’t dent her mood.

At 7.30 sharp her cab pulls up outside Bernie’s flat and she finds the other woman waiting for her out on the street. It’s hard to see what she’s wearing because she has her usual trench coat on over the top - the one she’d worn on traffic light night, Serena notes approvingly.

“Hello,” Serena purrs as Bernie folds herself into the seat next to her, then leans over to press a kiss to her flushing cheek.

“Hi,” Bernie squeaks out, making Serena laugh before she decides to have mercy on her by asking how her surgery went.

“Had to remove the spleen, but we saved the kidney,” Bernie replies and for the next ten minutes they chat lightly about work, effectively dousing the tension.

When they’re seated, the waiter offers to take their coats to the cloakroom and Serena gets her first look at what Bernie’s chosen to wear for the evening. She swallows visibly as she takes in the dark pinstripe trousers accentuating those endless legs, the pressed white shirt open at the collar, the tailored jacket that she takes off and drapes over the back of her chair. Serena’s eyes are drawn to Bernie’s wrists, where she sees the outfit is completed by a set of glinting silver cufflinks.

“You’re looking very handsome tonight, Major,” she manages to say, her voice husky and deep.

For a moment Bernie doesn’t reply because her eyes are too busy feasting on the sight of Serena in her low cut, wine-red dress, her arms bare but for a silk scarf she’s draped over her shoulders. “You’re beautiful,” she says at last, and Serena suddenly feels the need to regroup because her plan to wait until the third date to take Bernie home and ravish her is rapidly seeming like a terrible idea.

She takes a quick glance at the wine list, which proves to be as extensive as promised, and orders a bottle of Australian Shiraz before excusing herself to visit the little girls’ room. When she gets there she dabs cold water on her wrists and behind her ears, trying to cool down so she can spend the rest of this date eating food and talking to her best friend like a normal human being, rather than behaving like a hormonal teenager with her first crush.

When she returns to the table she finds Bernie with a small notebook out, scribbling something with a stub of pencil she seems to have fished out of her pocket. There’s a tiny frown on her face and she looks engrossed.

“I know it’s a school night, but I thought we were past homework,” Serena murmurs as she sits back down. Bernie jumps a little then smiles self-consciously. She covers her writing with her hand a little furtively, then begins to put the notebook away before she hesitates, seemingly making up her mind about something.

“It sort of is homework,” she says at last. “Uhm...it’s a thought examination. You, uh...when you find yourself thinking something that makes you anxious or whatever, you have to look at it logically and try to...well, to take its power away. A bit.” She finishes by taking a sip of her wine, shaking her head. “Silly, I know-”

“It’s not silly,” Serena interrupts. She’s familiar with the practices of cognitive behavioural therapy and is only surprised that Bernie’s actually doing it. “I didn’t realise you were talking to someone.”

Bernie fiddles with her pencil. “Early days,” she says. “It’s just been a couple...a couple of weeks.” She meets Serena’s eyes. “I’m not depressed. I’m not diagnosed with anything, actually, I just…” She shrugs. “I’ve spent so long hiding things about myself, not able to face things. I let stuff get bogged down in my head. It’s done nothing but hurt people - Marcus, Alex, the kids. I…” She looks up at Serena through her fringe. “I want to be better. For myself, but...for you too?” She reaches out across the table and Serena meets her halfway, tangling their fingers together. She just smiles, doesn’t need to say anything because her pride and affection are shining in her eyes.

After a moment, she nods to the notebook. “Do you want to tell me what this anxiety inducing thought was?”

Bernie’s lips quirk into a sardonic smile. “You can read it,” she offers, and Serena uses her free hand to turn the little notebook around so she can begin trying to decipher Bernie’s messy scrawl.

 **_What happened:_ ** _Serena went to the bathroom._

 **_Intrusive thought:_ ** _She’s making an excuse to leave the table because she’s thought better of this whole thing._

 **_How much I believe this:_ ** _70%_

 **_Evidence for this:_ ** _None._

 **_Type(s) of unhelpful thinking:_ ** _Mind-reading, catastrophising._

 **_How I feel in the moment:_ ** _Raised heart rate, tension in abdomen._

 **_Other explanations for what happened:_ ** _She needs to use the bathroom. She wants to check her makeup._

 **_Evidence for this:_ ** _These are the things normal people do. She said she needed to use the bathroom. I don’t think she’d lie to me._

 **_Balanced conclusion:_ ** _She’s just using the bathroom like a normal person._

 **_How much I believe this:_ ** _80%_

Serena feels her heart melt at the vulnerability in the few scrawled lines, the trust that Bernie’s showing her by letting her see this. “Can I borrow your pencil?” she asks. When Bernie nods, she scribbles an additional entry under _other explanations for what happened,_ then turns the book back round so Bernie can read it.

_Serena had to go and cool down because the sight of Bernie in that outfit made her worry she might spontaneously combust._

Bernie reads her addition with a smile on her face. “Oh really?” she purrs, a sound Serena feels right down to the marrow of her bones. “You like what you see?”

“Very, very much,” Serena agrees. They stare at each other for a moment, enigmatic smiles playing on their lips, Bernie’s thumb stroking the soft skin of Serena’s wrist, before the waiter arrives to take their orders. Neither of them has even looked at the menu, so Serena just blindly orders the first thing she sees, which happens to be spaghetti vongole.

“Make that two,” Bernie says, which saves her having to bother attempting to read the menu at all.

It isn’t until they’re halfway through their main course that Serena notices the woman boring a hole into the back of Bernie’s head with her stare. She tries to ignore it and focus on the story Bernie’s telling about the time she performed a right-ventricular pseudoaneurysm repair in the back of a moving truck. She has the feeling Bernie’s trying to impress her, which is adorable but completely unnecessary because she’s been well and truly impressed for ages.

“Do you know that woman?” she asks when there’s a break in the story and rolls her eyes when Bernie turns and looks with no subtlety whatsoever.

“Oh,” Bernie says, surprised. “That’s a blast from the past. It’s Keeley Carston. She was my long-suffering reg for a good three years.” She raises her hand to wave at the younger woman who looks positively terrified as she belatedly waves back. Bernie’s frowning as she turns back to Serena. “I didn’t think I was _that_ hard on her when she was training under me.”

Serena arches an eyebrow. “Were you a bit of a slave-driver?”

Bernie shakes her head. “No,” she says, smiling. “She lived with us for a while, actually. She was going through something of a rough patch.”

Serena is surprised to feel a spark of jealousy flare inside her. “I’m beginning to think you have a thing for younger women,” she says, attempting to turn it into a joke. “Should I be concerned?”

“What?” Bernie’s face is a picture of confusion before she understands the implication and blushes furiously. “No, it wasn’t like that,” she insists. “And anyway, Keeley’s not...I mean, she’s married.” Serena raises an eyebrow. “To a man,” Bernie amends.

“Well, which of us hasn’t made that mistake,” Serena says blandly and Bernie laughs, the proper, honking bray that she so rarely lets loose. Serena sees Keeley’s companion turn and stare at the sound and is surprised to see a young man in his mid-twenties at most.

“Never mind you, your old reg is a bit of a cradle-snatcher herself,” she says.

She’s looking at Bernie as she turns round and so notices the exact moment that she recognises the young man, when the blood drains from her cheeks.

“Cameron,” Bernie murmurs before she’s suddenly on her feet, crossing to the other table with quick strides of those long legs Serena had been admiring earlier.

Serena’s eyes widen. “Oh, hell,” she mutters and quickly goes after her.

It takes her mere seconds to catch up to Bernie but the situation is already a car crash. “I don’t understand,” Bernie’s saying.

Cameron is squirming. “We’re just having a quick bite to eat.”

“In a romantic restaurant you need to book days in advance.”

Cameron’s eyes flick to Serena as she sidles up beside Bernie. “Maybe not the time or place for a family reunion,” she suggests softly.

Cameron holds out his hand. “Hi. Cameron Dunn. Who are you, exactly?”

Serena recognises this for what it is: an attempt to regain control of the situation, to put his mother on the back foot, so she holds his gaze and makes her handshake firm and sure. “Serena Campbell,” she says. “Your mother and I work together.”

He nods knowingly. “And have dinner together,” he says. “In a romantic restaurant you need to book days in advance.”

She smiles. “Yes, it was quite a feat getting one of the more private tables,” she says blandly. “Were they all taken when you made your booking?” She leans forward, as if to impart some wisdom. “Probably better to hold out for one of those if you’re going out with a married woman.”

He looks from her to his mother incredulously. “Well, that’s rich.”

Bernie’s face turns from ashen to bright red in one second flat. Serena thinks she’s embarrassed her and feels a stab of guilt, but then Bernie speaks and she realises that it’s not shame but anger that’s colouring her cheeks.

“Outside. Now,” she grinds out. Cameron is on his feet before he even realises what he’s doing. No child in the world could ignore that tone from their mother, no-matter how grown-up they think they are.

Serena watches him trail outside after her, then drops herself into Cameron’s empty chair. “Well,” she says, looking into the panicked face of Keeley Carston, “this isn’t how I pictured tonight would go. How about you?”

* * * * *

It’s ten minutes before Bernie and Cameron come back in - ten minutes of stilted conversation in which Keeley is nervous and Serena is the picture of acidic wit. When they return, Bernie looks less angry and more thoughtful. Cameron looks chagrined, like a little boy who’s had a telling off but doesn’t want to admit he’s done anything wrong. He stops in front of Serena, flicking his eyes to Bernie before he speaks. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I was rude.”

She raises an eyebrow. "Think nothing of it,” she says.

Bernie has gone to retrieve her jacket from their table. “Do you mind if we go?” she asks Serena. “I think I’ve had enough for one night.”

Serena nods. “I’ve already settled the bill,” she says, standing. She turns to Cameron. “It was nice to meet you. I hope to see you again in less excruciatingly awkward circumstances.” Keeley gets nothing but a raised eyebrow.

After they’ve recovered their coats and are out on the street waiting for the cab the waiter called them, Serena reaches down and tangles her fingers with Bernie’s. “You all right?” she asks gently.

Bernie takes a deep breath. “I don’t know what goes through that boy’s head sometimes.” She turns to look at Serena. “He’s in a relationship with Keeley.”

Serena rolls her eyes affectionately. “Yes, I had gathered that much,” she says. “I meant are you okay about...well, did he already know? About your...persuasion.”

A blush colours Bernie’s cheeks. “Oh, that,” she says. “No. Well, he suspected apparently. I think I took the wind out of his sails when I told him this was a date. He probably expected a lot more denial.” She draws in a sharp breath, her eyes wide as she seems to realise for the first time what she’s done. “Did I just come out?”

Serena laughs, low and throaty. “I think we both did,” she says, enchanted and smitten at the thought that Bernie’s instinctive reaction when she felt Serena was being disrespected was to leap to her defence. “Did you make him apologise to me?” she asks shyly, a small, happy smile playing on her lips.

Bernie frowns. “Of course,” she says, then grins. “I think I told him he wasn’t too old to go over my knee, actually.”

Serena throws back her head and laughs, and is still laughing when Bernie tugs her by her lapels and pulls her forward. Bernie’s lips are quite effective at silencing her. She melts into the kiss, sliding her hands up over her shoulders and into soft, blonde curls, letting out a little whimper of surrender at the first brush of Bernie’s tongue against her lips.

They’re still kissing when the taxi draws up and honks at them, making them spring apart with a jerk before laughing. “Sorry,” Bernie says breathily. “Not quite how I wanted our first date to go.”

Serena just smiles and takes her hand. “It’s looking up,” she says, and tugs her towards the waiting cab.


	2. Canoodling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernie and Serena go to the cinema, with an unexpected tag-along.

Serena isn’t sure what’s happening to her. She’s sure she’s the same woman who once lectured Arthur Digby about the perils of workplace romances, but here she is, dragging Bernie Wolfe into a supply cupboard in the middle of the day because she’s been watching her for hours and she can’t take it anymore.

“Mmph,” is all the sound Bernie can make before Serena’s hands are in her hair and her lips are claiming her again and again.

“You’re so beautiful,” Serena murmurs between kisses. She feels almost delirious with all the feelings Bernie stirs up. It’s never been like this with anyone - she’s never been so distracted, so very aware of anyone else’s physical presence, never been able to feel another’s eyes on her like she can feel Bernie’s. She should hate it, this loss of her customary control, but instead she feels...alive. Exhilarated. It’s so warm and intimate and joyful between them, unlike any relationship she’s ever had, at least any relationship only one date old. She wonders if it’s because Bernie’s a woman, but thinks it’s more likely because Bernie’s a friend. Her very best friend.

 _“You’re_ beautiful,” Bernie replies, her hands gripping Serena’s hips as if to ground herself. Her lips are trailing fire across her throat and Serena’s head is thrown back, her lips parted, her breath coming in sharp pants.

The door handle rattles and they spring apart, patting down hair and straightening clothes instinctively. Serena hopes her lipstick isn’t too smudged, and then thinks that maybe she should stop wearing it for a while, at least until this urge to kiss Bernie senseless every time she sees her calms down. If it ever does.

“Hello Auntie Serena, Doctor Bernie,” says Jason as he enters the cupboard.

“Jason!”

Serena straightens her hair again, flushed and flustered, desperately hoping his exceptionally critical eye doesn’t zero in on the obvious signs of what can only be described as shenanigans. But he isn’t interested in them; he’s scanning the shelves for something and is spectacularly indifferent about their presence.

“What are you looking for, love?” Serena asks, smiling a little.

“One of the porters asked me to get some bags of saline,” he replies. “They’re very busy.” He finds what he’s looking for with a little exclamation of satisfaction before turning back to them. “I’d like to be a porter.”

Serena frowns. “Don’t be silly, you’ve got a perfectly good job.”

“My job is to point out people’s mistakes. I make people miserable.”

Bernie shakes her head. “You don’t, Jason,” she says. “Everyone here loves you.”

Serena glances at her, eyes soft and full of affection. “There, you see?”

Jason just shakes his head. “What are you two doing in here anyway?”

The abrupt change in direction after she’d thought she was safe makes Serena’s eyes widen. “Oh!” she says. “I, uh...I saw Bernie come in here and I remembered I wanted to…wanted to...” She searches around for something, anything.

“To ask if I wanted to see a film tonight,” Bernie supplies. Serena’s head snaps round.

“Uh, yes, that’s right,” she says, running with it.

“Oh really?” Jason says. “What film?”

Again, Serena’s mind goes blank and Bernie comes to her rescue. _“Fort Pitt,”_ she says. “It’s a dramatisation of the history of the first Army Medical School and the early years of the RAMC.”

A small, surprised smile curls Serena’s lips upwards as she realises that Bernie has obviously been planning this - perhaps not for tonight, but she’s been thinking about date number two.

“Oh, I’d like to see that,” Jason says, and Serena’s eyes widen.

“Oh...I’m sure you would love, but…” She casts a flustered glance towards Bernie. “Well, people tend to go to the cinema in pairs, don’t they? And anyway, you know what I’m like - I can’t help myself talking through the film sometimes and I know you hate that.”

Jason frowns, nodding. “That’s true,” he says, and Serena begins to relax. “I’ll bring Alan along. Then we’ll have two pairs. And you can sit two people away from me so I won’t hear you.”

Serena opens her mouth to protest, but within a couple of seconds he’s gone. She turns to Bernie, her mouth still hanging open, only to find the other woman holding back laughter.

“Sorry,” Bernie says, her lips twitching. “I think this date just became a group outing.”

Her amusement is infectious, despite everything, and Serena finds herself smiling. “Well, perhaps we can escape to the back row,” she says, her voice low and throaty. “What was that word you used at Albie’s the other week?” She arches an eyebrow. “Canoodling?”

She meets Bernie’s eyes, which is a mistake because they’re dark and hungry and looking at Serena like she’s a particularly delectable item on an expensive menu. Serena glances at the door and then finds herself pressed up against it, Bernie’s body flush against hers, her mouth warm and insistent as it presses kisses to her lips. They both need to be back on the ward but, as Bernie’s lips crash down on hers again, Serena can’t find it within her to protest.

* * * * *

They still have to somehow get through another five hours of their shift, barring emergencies. Luckily it’s a quiet day. Serena has a routine procedure to carry out but Bernie’s on admin duty, which has her holed up in their office for hours upon hours. “Let me scrub in,” she whines after the tenth chart.

Serena grins. “I hardly think we need two consultants for a routine appendectomy, do you?”

Bernie groans, long and low. “I hate this so much,” she murmurs emphatically, letting her head fall to the desk in a hyperbolic display of displeasure.

Serena, distracted by the groan that sounds way too close to certain other noises that have hitherto existed only in the realms of her very active imagination, just blinks. “Chin up, Major,” she says, standing abruptly. “Has to be done. I’m just going to...go...elsewhere.”

She lets loose a deep, tremulous sigh as she escapes out of the door and heads to the nurses’ station. She still has an hour to go before she has to be in theatre, but she can’t stay in her office listening to Bernie moaning - literally - about paperwork, or watching her absently sucking on the end of her pen, her tongue peeking past those soft, eminently kissable lips. She’s a strong woman, she really is, but she’s only human.

It takes her a little while to become aware of the scrutiny. Someone’s watching her, but it’s not Bernie. Bernie’s eyes feel different, as crazy as that sounds. She’d never admit it to anyone, but she feels like she’s hyper-aware of Bernie, like she’d always know where she is in a room.

“Out with it,” she says without looking up, and is rewarded by a surprised squeak. So - it’s Morven who’s staring at her.

“Sorry, Ms Campbell,” Morven says. Serena looks up from her work, raising an eyebrow. Morven swallows visibly. “It’s just…” Her eyes flick to the consultants’ office. “Forgive me if I’m overstepping my bounds, but...are you and Ms Wolfe…”

Serena’s expression has frozen in a half-sardonic smirk and she’s not quite sure which way she’s going to go. She might laugh or she might blow up. It’s really a fifty/fifty proposition. Had someone seen them go into the supply cupboard? It was a foolish risk to take at work, she knows that of course - has schooled enough F1s about keeping work and love life seperate to know better. She should have controlled herself, she thinks. She’s meant to be an eminent surgeon, not a lovesick fool.

“Are you and Ms Wolfe okay?” Morven says at last. Serena blinks. “I mean,” the younger doctor continues, “have you had a falling out?”

Oh. That isn’t quite the question she’d been expecting.

“What makes you say that?” Serena says, her voice a little strangled.

Morven’s wringing her hands now, obviously regretting bringing it up in the first place. “You never work in the office together anymore,” she says. “You haven’t been operating much together either. And-” She abruptly cuts herself off, cheeks darkening in embarrassment.

“And?” Serena prompts, arching an eyebrow. In for a penny, and all that.

Morven winces. “You never touch each other anymore?” she says. “I mean, Ms Wolfe’s not the touchy feely type, but you’ve always been a very tactile person. Recently it seems like the two of you can’t bear to stand closer than a foot apart.” She frowns. _“Have_ you fallen out? Because I really hope you can put whatever it is behind you: you’re both such wonderful surgeons and such great friends, it would be a real shame if you...Ms Campbell?”

But Serena can’t answer because she’s doubled over in laughter and she’s not sure when she’s going to be able to stop.

* * * * *

They’ve agreed to meet outside the cinema ten minutes before the film is due to start. Jason had insisted on buying the tickets online, just in case it sold out, despite the fact that it’s a low budget British film nearing the end of its theatrical run and Serena thinks they might just be the only four people in the theatre.

“You know it’ll just be trailers and adverts for half an hour before the film actually starts,” she says after Jason looks at his watch for the tenth time.

“It says eight o’clock so that’s when we need to be there,” he insists. “We’d have been able to leave on time if you hadn’t been fussing about what to wear.”

Serena feels her cheeks flush. Choosing an outfit for their first date had been relatively simple. It was dinner in a reasonably plush restaurant and the mood was self-consciously romantic. A trip to the cinema, especially with her nephew and his former carer in tow, is a horse of a different colour. She’d eventually decided on black tailored trousers of the type she regularly wore to work, but paired with deep blue cashmere jumper rather than her usual floaty blouses. It’s sinfully soft and very comfortable, and she hopes that Bernie will enjoy running her hands over it in the darkness of the theatre. Or, she thinks, flushing with anticipation, perhaps _under_ it.

She pulls into a parking space only one minute after their agreed time thanks to a serendipitous run of the lights. She can see that Alan and Bernie are already there, chatting lightly in front of the cinema. Serena takes the opportunity to drink Bernie in before she notices they’ve arrived. She’s gone for casual too, her usual black skinny jeans worn over military style boots. She’s chosen a dark blue checked shirt and - to Serena’s intense pleasure - a buttery soft looking leather jacket that hugs her body in all the right places. She thinks she might be drooling slightly as they approach and everyone greets each other. Serena manages a quick handshake for Alan before turning her attention to Bernie.

“Hello,” she purrs, leaning up to brush a kiss onto Bernie’s cheek.

“Hello you,” Bernie replies, her voice coloured with a warmth that Serena thinks only she would recognise.

Or perhaps not she thinks a second later, as she spots Alan’s eyes flicking between them, a knowing smile appearing on his face. She feels herself flush but he doesn’t say anything because Jason’s urging them all inside.

As Serena had thought, the theatre is empty and they have their pick of seats. She links her arm with Bernie’s and begins to lead her to the back row, but Jason stops them.

“What are you doing?” he demands. “It’s been scientifically proven that choosing seats in the centre of the cinema provides the best overall visual and auditory experience.”

Serena’s mouth flops open and she looks to Alan for help, but he seems to be finding the situation most amusing. It’s Bernie who comes to the rescue again.

“Actually Jason, as we age the muscles in our eyes become less flexible. This leads to a condition known as presbyopia, which is a form of long-sightedness. For people of my and your auntie’s age, sitting near the back of the cinema is much more advisable.”

He cocks his head as he considers her assertion. “All right,” he says at last. “I suppose you’re less likely to disturb me back there anyway.”

Bernie smiles. “Quite right, Jason,” she says and leads Serena to the back of the theatre. They take their seats and get comfortable, draping their jackets onto an empty seat.

“I’m not sure I approve of you using my advanced age in that way,” Serena huffs once they’re settled, but there’s no bite to it.

Bernie raises an eyebrow. “You’d rather go down there and sit with them?” she asks.

“I didn’t say that.” Serena’s face softens. “You look gorgeous, by the way,” she murmurs, her voice a soft purr. Her eyes rake up and down Bernie’s body like a caress, making the other woman shiver and flush.

“You look absolutely ravishing,” Bernie whispers close to her ear. “But then, you always do.”

The theatre darkens as the trailers begin to play. Serena glances briefly down at Jason but he’s engrossed and she knows he won’t take his eyes from the screen for the next two hours. They’re as alone as they can be, given they’re technically in a public place.

Bernie yawns and stretches and when her arms come back down she’s curling one round Serena’s shoulders. Serena smiles at the move - ancient, yet timeless - and gently rests her hand on Bernie’s denim-clad thigh.

“I believe I was promised canoodling,” Bernie whispers as she leans in for a kiss. Serena lets her eyes drift shut and the next time either of them surface for air the credits are rolling.

Neither of them have the slightest idea what the film was about.

* * * * *

Bernie makes a valiant attempt to bluff her way through the post film conversation. They’re in a coffee shop, though none of them are drinking coffee in deference to the lateness of the hour. Bernie has bought the three of them hot chocolate, Alan having chosen to head straight home and leave them to it.

“Did you know how badly the doctors were treated in those days, Bernie?” Jason asks. “I didn’t know they weren’t given a proper army rank to begin with.”

Bernie tears her eyes from Serena who’s licking whipped cream from her lips with quick darts of her pink little tongue.

“What?” she says. “Oh. Yes, Jason, I did know that. I have a book at home about the history of the RAMC if you’d like to learn more.”

“I’d like that. Thank-you.” He turns to Serena. “What was your favourite part of the film, Auntie Serena?”

Serena’s eyes widen. Her favourite part of the last two hours was the ten minute spell where Bernie had her hands under her jumper and her tongue in her mouth, the sound of their lips moving and their low moans of delight swallowed up by the soundtrack of the film. “Uhm…” she begins, stalling for time. “What was yours?”

His answer is immediate. “I liked the part where the professor of the medical school berated the Minister of War for not appreciating the work of the army doctors,” he says.

Serena smiles. “Gosh, you know that was my favourite part too,” she says. “How about you, Bernie?”

“Absolutely,” the other woman agrees. “A very powerful scene.”

Jason’s eyes narrow. “There was no such scene,” he says, his voice smug and triumphant. “I was just testing to see if you’d been paying attention.”

The two women stare at each other, both momentarily lost for words. “Jason,” Serena begins at last, but he cuts her off.

“I don’t understand why you went to see a film if you didn’t intend to watch it,” he says. “If you just wanted to spend the time kissing each other, you could have done that at home for free.”

Serena’s eyes bulge in a way that would be comical in other circumstances. “Jason!” she splutters. “I...we...I mean-”

Again he cuts her off. “You’ve been acting very strangely around each other recently. You touch less at work and you don’t want to be in the office together. Simultaneously, your time spent together outside of work has increased by 36%.” He gives them both a knowing look. “I don’t understand a lot of things, but I do understand that.”

Serena looks down, chagrined. “Underestimating you again, am I?” she says, then glances over at Bernie. Hesitantly, she reaches for her hand. Bernie takes it without a second thought, turning it so their palms slide against each other and their fingers knit together.

“Is it okay with you that I’m dating your auntie, Jason?” she says gently. Serena stares at her, affection and pride and happiness swirling together inside her.

“Yes,” Jason says blandly, like it’s a matter of supreme indifference to him, then he smiles. “I like you, Bernie.”

Bernie smiles back. “I like you too, Jason,” and Serena doesn’t think her heart has ever been so full in all her life.

He turns his attention back to his aunt. “However,” he says, “what you were doing in the supply cupboard this morning was definitely a breach of the hospital’s code of conduct.” He waits while a deep flush colours her cheeks. “As a CAA, I may have to consider how this will affect the smooth running of the ward.”

“Now, Jason-” Serena begins, trying to pluck arguments that will dissuade him from her mind.

“However,” he continues, as if she hadn’t spoken, “if I were a porter, I wouldn’t care about that at all.”

Serena’s mouth snaps closed and for a moment she’s lost for words. Then Bernie begins to laugh, that free and uninhibited laugh that Serena loves and has begun to hear more and more often. It’s infectious, and within a moment all three of them are laughing, tears streaming down Serena’s cheeks as she wonders if she’s ever been happier in her life than right at this moment.

“All right, Jason, you win,” she says at last, when they’ve all calmed down. “We’ll get you an application form in the morning.”

He smiles and she reaches for her hot chocolate to finish the last few sips. Beside her, Bernie squeezes her hand and doesn’t let go.


	3. Sexual Harassment (Bernie Style)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernie invites Serena to scrub in to a complicated surgery.

_“Please. What’s your idea of sexual harassment? Inviting someone to scrub in to a complicated surgery with you?” - Serena Campbell_

Bernie has the most exquisite hands. Long fingers, delicate yet strong. Skin calloused and rough from decades of scrubbing in and out of surgery, but warm and so sure when her hands glide over Serena’s skin. Fine bones and tendons that flex when she performs the intricate movements required for her work. They’re talented hands, hands that have saved lives, that have held dying men’s hearts and forced them back to life in the dust and heat of a war zone. Serena, more than most, knows what those hands can do.

And now she’s obsessed with them because she can’t help imagining what those hands could do to her body. What they’ve already done.

They haven’t gone further than kissing and caressing yet. But dear god, how they’ve kissed and caressed. Serena feels a flush of heat spread from her chest to her cheeks as she remembers the night before, when they’d lain on Serena’s couch for twenty minutes just kissing and letting their hands slide through each other’s hair and under each other’s clothes. One of those beautiful, gifted hands had palmed her breast through her bra, but Bernie had pulled away when Serena moaned and arched her back into the touch, shyly explaining that they had yet to have that elusive third date.

Because they’ve been busy. Work has been even more hectic than usual, and there was that nasty incident with James Fielding who’d fetched up on the ward with a bit of a Bernie obsession. Serena will be forever grateful that, when Fletch had requested a psych consult for the disturbed young man, Bernie had put aside her discomfort about labelling everyone who seemed a bit odd as mentally ill and acquiesced at once. She’d told her later that she’d thought of her own therapist, how helpful that hour every week had been, how needing a bit of help wasn’t the terrible thing she’d always feared, and made the call.

It turned out that Mr Fielding had been obsessed with Bernie for months, watching her at the hospital, sketching more and more disturbing images in his little notebooks. The police had come to see them both, because Serena had appeared in those notebooks too, labelled as _poss. girlfriend? Requires further investigation._

But it seemed he hadn’t had time to perform those investigations because there was nothing else about her in the books. It had shaken Bernie badly and she’d clung to Serena that night, slowly and painfully talking through everything she was thinking and feeling because, as she’d said, it was quicker than writing it all down. Cheaper than booking an extra therapy session, too.

A week had passed since then and the ward had been busy; so busy that they’d barely had time for more than grabbing a coffee here and there, or downing a quick drink in Albie’s before Serena had to rush off to see to Jason or Bernie had to run back to the hospital for a trauma call.

So, what with one thing and another, Serena is delighted when she finds herself joined in the lift by Bernie, who looks at her shyly through her fringe and begins wringing her beautiful, talented hands. Which brings Serena back full circle.

“Hello stranger,” she says, eyes twinkling.

“Serena, right?” Bernie replies, catching on to her flirtatious tone. Serena’s lips curl in a wicked grin, wondering if she has time before the lift reaches the next floor to push Bernie against the wall and sneak a quick taste of what she’s been craving.

No, it seems, because the lift doors open before she can even complete the thought and they’re joined by an F1 from their own ward who nods at them both politely as she gets in.

They’re silent for a few moments, very deliberately not looking at each other, and then Bernie pipes up. “I might have a patient with a pseudoaneurysm of the splenic artery.”

“Oh,” Serena manages to squeak, her mind supplying images of Bernie’s dextrous, talented fingers in theatre. God, she’s still wringing her hands together. Is she trying to kill Serena right here in this lift?

“You don’t see one of them every day.”

She has to get out of there. This is more than any woman could stand. “No, no...no, that’s...that’s...that’s true.” The lift doors open. “Well, good luck with that then.”

She’s on the wrong floor. As the lift doors close behind her, she’s sure she can hear a soft sound of mirth dropping from Bernie’s lips. Her face burns, but she shakes it off as she heads for the stairs, ready to finish her journey to her meeting with Hanssen on foot.

The next time she sees Bernie it’s on the ward and she’s making a beeline for her with a tablet in hand. “You dashed off rather quickly earlier,” she says softly, under the pretext of showing her a surgical plan.

“Did I?” Serena murmurs. “Meeting with Hanssen. New violence in the workplace initiative.” She doesn’t mention how Hanssen had had to drag her attention back to him several times, how she’d been lost in daydreams for much of the meeting and utterly unable to act professionally.

“I see,” Bernie says knowingly, because Serena had got off the lift four floors below Hanssen’s office and they both know it. “Well, back to business.”

The abrupt change in tone nearly gives Serena whiplash. “What am I looking at?”

Bernie gestures towards the tablet. “James Collings,” she says. “Pseudoaneurysm of the splenic artery.” She’s pointing at the tablet with her middle finger - is that normal? - and waving her hand in the air between them in a frankly obscene fashion. For a lesbian, what she’s doing with her hand is practically pornographic.

“What do you think?”

Serena blinks and realises she has no idea what Bernie has just said. “Well, you don’t need my permission to schedule a necessary surgical procedure.”

Bernie blinks. “I thought you might like to jump in as an interested colleague and...friend.”

Serena’s mind is still on those sinful hands. “Probably best take care of yourself,” she says, then immediately corrects herself. _“It._ Take care of _it..._ yourself. Sorry, I’m very very busy.”

She retreats into their office and immediately smacks her head against the doorframe. Good god, she needs to get this under control. Perhaps her Freudian slip isn’t so far off the mark. She needs to take the edge off this somehow, or she’s never going to get through the day.

Just as she’s trying to decide exactly how bad an idea that would be, the door opens and Bernie slips inside. There’s no tablet, no work excuse for her to be there. Serena watches as she very efficiently closes the blinds, her heart thumping so hard she’s surprised it’s not audible. Then Bernie is in front of her, crowding her against the doorframe, burying her face in her neck and whispering in her ear. “Distracted, Ms Campbell?”

Serena melts against her, sliding her hands into her hair in an effort to keep herself upright. “Sorry,” she whispers. “I’m not acting very professionally, am I?”

Bernie’s lips trail over her neck and cheeks before pressing against her eager mouth. Serena parts her lips and kisses her back, deep and desperate and wet and wonderful.

“It’s your hands,” she admits when Bernie lets her breathe. She reaches for them, holding them in her own gently, like they might break. “I can’t stop thinking about what I want them to do to me.”

She thinks she hears a groan, but it’s hard to make anything out over the thundering of her own heart. “Well,” Bernie says after a moment. “If I promise not to turn theatre into a sapphic seduction session…” She pauses while they both smile, the tension dissipating ever so slightly. “Will you lend a hand?”

Serena nods shakily. “I’d be glad to,” she says.

Bernie smiles shyly before ducking her head and Serena feels a little stab of something else: not lust, though that’s still there obviously. This is a more tender emotion, a warmth in her chest, a delirious, joyful rush.

She knows what it is. She recognises the symptoms.

But she thinks Bernie probably isn’t ready to hear that. Not yet. “I’ll see you in theatre,” she says instead, and Bernie nods.

“Until then,” she says, and surprises her with one last kiss that tingles on her lips long after she leaves her alone in their darkened office.

* * * * *

The surgery goes without a hitch. They work together seamlessly just like always, always knowing exactly what the other will need them to do. Despite Bernie’s promise, there’s a charged atmosphere, an undertone to everything they say to each other. The anaesthetist and the scrub nurses have been sharing looks for the past hour, feeling like gooseberries tagging along on a date.

“Do you want to tie off the artery?” Bernie offers as they reach the end stages of the procedure.

“How about we take a side each?”

Beneath her surgical mask, Bernie’s lips twitch in a smile. “3-0 prolene for me and Ms Campbell, please.”

They take their instruments from the nurse and work in silence for a few moments. Serena admires Bernie’s work, casting a professional eye over what they’ve done. The other woman’s bread and butter is trauma - broken bones and internal bleeding, fixed with metal plates and drills and screws. This delicate work is a different beast, but she’s just as skilled, just as thorough in this as in any frantic trauma surgery. She wonders if that’s what it’ll be like when they finally go to bed together - raw and sweaty and vigorous at first, turning gentle and soft and tender when the mood strikes them. What will it be like to have all that talent, all that precision and laser focus trained on her?

When she realises she’s fantasising about having sex with Bernie while their hands are inside a body cavity stitching up a man’s artery, she knows she needs to do something about this. It’s just not on. It won’t do at all.

“Fancy a drink later?” she says, proud of how steady her voice is.

Bernie’s eyebrows twitch below her scrub cap. “Well, if you’re buying.”

Neither of them notice the raised eyebrow exchanged between a pair of nurses.

Once the patient has been closed up and wheeled away they retire to the scrub room to wash their hands. It seems to take them a little longer than usual, so the anaesthetist finishes first, congratulating them both on an excellent surgery before leaving. It’s five o’clock: time for them to finish their shift. There are no emergencies to distract them, nothing pressing for the first time in weeks.

“Come back to my place tonight,” Serena says, not taking her eyes off her own hands. She runs through the familiar motions, thorough and sure.

Bernie blinks. “What about that drink?”

Serena laughs. “It may surprise you to hear this darling, but I have wine at home.”

She’s rewarded for this quip by a small snort of amusement. “Jason?”

“With Alan,” Serena says. “Until Thursday.”

She thinks she hears a sharp intake of breath, but it’s hard to tell over the sound of the running water. “I, uh…” Bernie mumbles. “I’m not sure…”

Serena can’t look at her. “Not sure of what?” she murmurs.

This time she’s sure she hears the breath. “Not sure I’ll be able to control myself if I get you alone.”

Her body reacts to Bernie’s words like a caress. She takes a step closer, so their hips are touching. “Who says I want you to?” she says.

Bernie shuts off the tap and turns to look at her at last. “I thought you wanted to wait until after our third date?” she asks, frowning.

Serena’s hands are wet, but she rests them on Bernie’s waist anyway, feeling the moisture soak into the thin material of her scrubs. “Don’t even try to tell me that a splenic artery pseudoaneurysm repair isn’t your idea of a good time,” she purrs.

Bernie’s lips twitch in a smile as she reaches for Serena’s hands. “Are you sure?” she says.

Serena watches how their fingers instinctively play together, how they tease and caress and knit together like they were made to.

It’s just over six months since she first caught sight of Berenice Wolfe in the hospital car park, a little under four since she opened up her ward and her life to her, five weeks since she kissed her outside Albie’s in a little bubble of perfection, three hours since she realised she’s falling in love with her.

She’s never been more sure of anything in her life.

“Yes,” she says. “Very much _yes.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming soon - _Green Means Go_ , which will - let's be honest here - be absolute filth.

**Author's Note:**

> Raf, Fletch and Morven conspiring together like the witches from Macbeth is a reference to my wife's fic [Collecting You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13217433), which is a delight.


End file.
